


Queen of Hearts

by artificialashley



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: All Stars, Assassin AU, Drag Race, F/F, Lesbian AU, a very literal take on manilas elimination, mild almost smut, rpdr, tw sociopathic traits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialashley/pseuds/artificialashley
Summary: Naomi is bored, bored of robbing on the road and carrying out her contract killings. Manila is afraid, afraid of upsetting the hold that she rules over. What happens when a heartless assassin is hired to kill the Queen with the biggest heart going?





	Queen of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m back with my extremely literal take on everyone calling Naomi an assassin after she eliminated Manila - this has literally been years in the making so I hope yous like it (it was originally a planned but never written Malec fic). I have a whole bunch of inspirations for this fic from Barbie to Skyrim I can’t even think of them all. Thanks so so much to S for beta-ing. xoxoxo Ashley

“This contract better be worthwhile,” Naomi examined her nails for dirt - above everyone else in the Brotherhood like always.  
In her mind, she was always above them, above everyone in Azolla. She had made a name for herself and the Brotherhood knew now only to contact her under special request - she would not stoop to their measly dealings with hidden mistresses or disapproving parents.  
The Scarlet Blade was notorious around the hold; she was clean, she was sharp and she left you to bleed. If it weren't for the dead body lying on the floor, you’d have thought she’d never been there. She was heartless and she did a good job at being so. Days of stopping passing carriages with a dagger and a demand had passed her - boredom teased her with every contract, with every kill, waiting for something more, something bigger, something to intrigue her. She looked around the room, never investing her time in Astrid and her games, never investing in anywhere she went, always wishing she was somewhere else instead.  
“It is, my child,” Astrid sat across her.  
Where Naomi should have felt a pang of warmth at the woman’s address, all she felt was ice. Family was a thing of the past, not to be touched, not to be toyed with, compartmentalised in a tiny fragment of her brain that didn’t know how to spell the word belonging.  
She remembered her first meeting with the Brotherhood, with Astrid. The day she realised that dark underground caverns of murder and money burrowed underneath the blooming hills and castles of Azolla. The day she realised that she was much better suited making crime with the secret networks then living her life in poverty on the streets, envying the wealth that poured into the upper class like a rich bottle of merlot. The day her whole world was destroyed and a new one formed where she would not be shooed or pitied by anyone - and her name would be on everyone's lips.  
“There is to be an uprising. The people of Azolla are upset at the cowardice monarchy. The blood of the poor and the innocent was spilt in the battle against Angeria whilst the Queen tried to make peace with gift baskets and alliances, lying tucked in at night with her windows locked. She now plans to marry the King of the enemy land rather than to fight them, now the people wish to fight her.”  
Naomi cocked her head - she was listening.  
“Her head is on the chopping board and people are paying good money to see it roll.”  
“What’s in this for me?”  
“It’s a challenge. I know no one other than the Scarlet Blade who could execute such a plan. These other children wouldn’t be able to kill our divine ruler - they show much too flight, much too emotion. I need someone who likes that challenge, someone I can trust, I need you.”  
“How much?”  
“Ten thousand. Double if you do it on her wedding day.”  
“Hmm,” she examined the other hand.  
“Your name will be known even further. You will be a hero to the normal folk and a villain to the high and mighty who make people like us fight their battles for them. The Scarlet Blade will live longer than yourself Naomi, ushered on everyone’s lips for centuries to come.”  
“Don’t humour me, Astrid,” she snapped a gaze at the woman - her long lashes and fierce gaze enough to kill without the dagger she played with, pressing it sharply between each of her long fingers, deep cuts into the wood of the table every time she impaled.  
“I know you’ve been bored, child,” Astrid tried to get a sense of emotion from the girl, hoping that somewhere deep inside her beautiful body a chord was being struck. “I know how you’ve missed playing this game of cat and mouse.”  
“I guess I’ll take it,” she half-heartedly took the papers from Astrid’s hand as though they were the scraps of the daily announcements rather than the plans to assassinate their Queen, pointing a slender finger towards her ready to be pricked, marking up their contract bound by blood.  
***  
Manila’s heart raced as she sat in her carriage, looking out at the green grass and cobbled brick of Azolla, praying that she was doing the right thing for her people.  
As a child, she had dreamed of falling in love - of someone to play cards with, someone to pick flowers for. But, alas, her duty as Queen came first. She had lived a sheltered life and even the thought of killing the insects that ate the castle roses made her flinch - she knew she had been criticised, that people wanted her to build an army to fight Angeria, that they blamed her for the deaths of her people - yet she couldn’t possibly send her people away with the sole purpose being to fight, to kill. So she did what she did best and lead with her heart, throwing away her dreams of love to marry the King of the neighbouring hold, to make sure that her people were protected from the soldiers who stormed their houses.  
It wasn’t that the King was unattractive. Although older than herself, Manila didn’t see fault with the way his grey hair slicked back to his head, his dark eyes welcoming and illustrious. That image of a connection, of someone holding her hand, just played in the back of her mind as she pictured her new married life - choosing a political arrangement confined in the walls of her castle over a blooming romance that leapt and danced across the farming fields.  
She thought of her father, of the man she had watched keep peace among the hold, the burdens that weighed heavy on Manila’s back resting lightly in his hand like a feather. He was beloved and mighty - a friendly giant, humble and strong - he was everything she wanted to be for the people. Ever since the attack, she cried to his portrait each night, too scared to look out of her window at the sleeping hold, wishing she had been able to rule like him, blaming herself for the loss of so many. But deep down she knew that he too wouldn’t have wanted to fight, wouldn’t have wanted to draft their people to kill - that he would be watching when she married Sutan and became the strong ruler that he had been.  
***  
It was safe to say that this contract was like no other Naomi had completed for the Brotherhood before. Usually, her killings were quick and easy - an arrow fired from the balcony of an inn, a knife in the back whilst asleep - she had never had to get close to a target before, never had to conjure patience. Ever since that fateful day she had never been one for talking, for being in other people’s company - she had quickly learnt that the only person she needed to rely on was herself - now feeling more concerned about having to work at the castle in order to be in attendance of the wedding than the actual assassination.  
It wouldn’t be long, Astrid had promised her. Just till they trust you - Astrid told her all about the guards with their sacred oaths and sharp spears, how she would raise less suspicion had she made herself familiar with them beforehand - she didn’t want to think yet about how she would escape that one.  
So there she was, the Scarlet Blade, the infamous criminal of Azolla, a cold-hearted killer dressed in a servants robes, waiting on her new master, her new target.  
Living alone in the outskirts of the hold, Naomi had isolated herself from the rest of the people. Taught about the cruelness of the world at a young age, she didn’t have friends, didn’t trust others - always quiet, planning, plotting, one jump ahead of the hurdles - keeping in her four mossy walls, only leaving her abode masked as her criminal persona. Yes, she had always had Astrid and the Brotherhood, they accepted her silence and looked over her unfriendly ways but alas it wasn’t Naomi they knew, it was the Scarlet Blade. Because no one really knew Naomi. She didn’t even know herself.  
She hadn’t known what to expect of the castle, but it wasn’t this. If people were said to look beyond them with rose-tinted lenses, then Naomi’s were blood red.  
Red roses barred the grass - jagged thorns warding off the non-gentile.  
The marble floor clicked under her shoes - something heavy weighing her down.  
She heard the faint whispers as she was escorted through, her brain already running through four, five, six ways she could escape.  
Then the Queen stood before her.  
A streak of white seeped through her hair, the rest the colour of fresh coals before they burned.  
Naomi wondered if the rest of the hold knew about it - that silent scream of white.  
It was meek. And powerful.  
She stood fierce. Yet humble.  
A strange sensation lingered somewhere inside Naomi’s mind that she couldn’t yet realise.  
Adorned in the robes of wealth with a crown of jewels, her skin gleamed, the flowing river just meeting that first beam of sunlight in the early hours. She was female beauty - an angel stole away from the sky and left missing home in the hold - but she was real, normal, a portrait in front of Naomi that had come to life and vaulted right out of the wooden frame.  
The river outside stopped in its flow - lying steady for half a second - before returning to its battle against the rock bed.  
Naomi curtsied to the queen, a strand of her thick, untamed and treated locks slipping out of place before her.  
She pushed it back with automatism - a natural reflex to hide the vulnerable.  
“Your new lady in waiting,” Naomi’s guide gestured towards her, “Miss Naomi,”  
“Naomi,” Manila looked upon her - a lifetime of wonder in her eyes, for someone who had always been able to read others better than she could a poem, Naomi found herself unable to tell what the Queen was thinking. A huge divide of wood and brick and stone between them. “The mother of Ruth. She bears the name of pleasantness until the death of her husband and sons where she returns as Mara, meaning bitterness.”  
Her outer layer was struck by the words, of the change. But it didn’t go any further - Naomi wasn’t pleasantness or bitterness - she felt nothing afterwards, she was nothing afterwards.  
“I’m not familiar with the tales from your books, your highness,” Naomi looked to the woman.  
“Oh,” Manila paused, feeling some form of emotion at Naomi’s words. Embarrassment? Privilege? Pity? Naomi couldn’t decipher it and almost prayed a silent prayer that things such as were behind herself.  
Manila looked onward at Naomi, examining her face is if she were about to be killed and the only thing that could save her was giving the most accurate description of Naomi’s eyes, her hair, her nose, her lips.  
Well, she was - but a test there was lack of.  
“I was going to begin her formal training, your highness.”  
“Yes, I ought to go rest before we recoup schedule,” the Queen regained her composure, falling out of her fantasyland straight back to her duties. She turned a dark eye to Naomi, “I am glad to have made your acquaintance.”  
The attendee's mouth widened a little, a pane of frustration slicing through his throat as the Queen turned on her heel and waltzed away. She had taken an interest in the new servant and Naomi showed no pleasure over it - maybe this contract wouldn’t have been as much as a challenge as she had anticipated.  
***  
“Naomi.”  
She stopped mid-walk as she removed a tray for the Queen’s quarters.  
She’d found three, four, five ways to escape by the time Manila spoke once more.  
“I would like your word on my portrait,” Manila stared at the girl, dark eyes like the richest of chocolates melting her body.  
“My word?” Naomi looked around for another worker, someone to verify the Queen’s words for her.  
She found a 6th way she could escape.  
“Yes. Something's not quite right with it and I know the rest of the staff will tell me just how perfect it is,” she looked Naomi up and down again, leaving her no more than a puddle on the floor. “Although you try, you lack the heirs and graces everyone else does around me. I have noticed you, you are not phased by my title,”  
“I believe everyone should be equal,” Naomi looked at the girl, memories fighting in the back of her mind to come forward and be felt like they deserved, tied back by aeons of repression.  
“As they are, just as you are honest,” Manila motioned Naomi towards her, the painting standing in front of them.  
“It’s not you,” Naomi responded bluntly, speaking her mind in a raw and unfiltered way that others lacked around the Queen. “You rule with your heart,”  
Manila’s mouth opened slightly at her words, closing again, an unreadable look across her porcelain face.  
“This woman,” Naomi pointed a sharp nail towards it, “she has no heart.”  
“I need to seem strong.”  
“A painting will not change what people think,” Naomi muttered, the thought of the contract re-entering her mind after managing to somehow slip away. “And it will not change what you think of yourself.”  
“Perhaps you could paint a real portrait?” Manila lent a gaze her way - two smokeless coals leaping out of stone.  
“I am here to wash your plates and polish your floors, your highness.”  
And to kill you, she added internally, the word having no higher significance than to wash or to polish. A job. “What makes you assume that I can paint?”  
“Your discipline,” she responded instantly.  
“My discipline is best used for other practices nowadays, your highness.”  
“You can paint,” Manila smiled to herself, shaking her head ever so slightly as she looked towards the floor.  
“I ought to take your tray,” Naomi glanced towards it, feeling the heat rise inside of her at the conversation, at the almost accusatory tone in the Queen’s words. Something uncomfortable that her lack of social skills failed to decipher.  
“As you must,” the Queen raised her head to meet Naomi’s eye line.  
She held the stare for one, two, three seconds.  
Then released it like a butterfly from its cage.  
Naomi fluttered away as fast as she could.  
***  
Sitting in the castle garden with her soon to be husband, Manila found her focus to be on anything but the conversation at hand.  
In the divine books, marriage was akin to giving up your life for the other, becoming one flesh. Although Manila saw how she was giving her life away by marrying the neighbouring King, she knew it was for the people of Azolla, not for him. He could have all the land, all the rivers, all the flowers and even the sun if they agreed not to spill blood in her hold again, and if this meant giving her life away then she figured so be it.  
Her father had told her once that ‘duty means doing the things your heart may well regret’ and she was hearing these words lull through her head at that moment.  
He was not in any such way a bad person, he simply wanted the best for his people in the same way Manila did - with the variance lying instead in their approaches. He was gentle with her, affectionate. He was intelligent, adaptable to her needs. Yet the need for someone who challenged Manila, someone who could shake her by the shoulders and tell her the truth played even deeper in her mind, fighting for breath under the vast cloud that was her duty.  
A daydreamer by nature, she allowed her thoughts to carry themselves away up hills and mountains until they reached the sky, falling back down with the weight of a thousand knight’s armour. She got lost in the colours of the outside world; the clear blue of the stream, the pure red of the rose, the specks of gold that traced the sky. So lost in her distant surroundings that she would fail to realise those near to her.  
It was safe to say that Manila was too help up in her own mind when she spilt her wine on Naomi.  
“Oh, my apologies,” Manila’s eyes widened as she saw the stains of scarlet splashed over the young woman’s server uniform - grasping a napkin to try and dab at the stain the best she could.  
“It’s fine,” Naomi looked down on her, taking in the Queen’s concerned reaction. Ever since their interaction over the painting, Naomi had tried to keep a low profile around the Queen; hoping to fade into the background and no longer stand out for her unfathomed behaviour. Yet there she was, wearing the Queen’s drink on her body as though it were a set of lavish jewels.  
“She is right, my lady, this is no grand issue,” Sutan drawled in his always relaxed tone.  
Manila ignored him: “I shall buy you a new one.”  
“You, personally?” Naomi raised a brow, finding humour in the visual image of the Queen picking coins out of a purse and purchasing clothes in the market.  
A flinch escaped from Manila’s body before she regained her composure.  
“Are you suggesting I cannot walk the streets of my own hold.”  
“If that is the conclusion you came to your highness,” Naomi shrugged a shoulder, lifting her tray and strutting away with her usual air of superiority that not another sole person in the hold had over the Queen.  
***  
“Take me into the hold.”  
Naomi turned to see Queen at the servers exit, her usual regal ensemble swapped for a simple cotton dress and hooded cape.  
There was no denying she was strong and commanding - no matter how she saw herself.  
“I have finished my day at work,” Naomi avoided eye contact and continued her strut down the path.  
“Then I shall just have to follow you home if you will not take me to the market,” Manila smirked, it was as if she had known Naomi a lifetime sometimes, what would convince her, what would make her roll her eyes. “Please, I want to be closer to my people.”  
“You can go alone,” Naomi uttered but paused in her step, waiting on the Queen’s words.  
“I want to have a little time to be free before I am wed, I know no other than you who would take me to the market as if I were just ordinary townsfolk. I don’t want to be fussed over.”  
Her words chipped away at Naomi’s exterior.  
Before I am wed.  
Before you are dead.  
She didn’t know what made her agree. The repressed longing to be back in the hustle and bustle of the ordinary life that was once hers? The guilt of knowing the Queen’s blood would be on her hands? The desire to see how the Queen would cope in real life? She could not explain why, so pushed it back away. Naomi’s decisions never came with a logical process, or if they did she was unaware of what it was, placing chess pieces randomly across the board without even knowing the rules.  
“Take off your rings.”  
***  
“Just keep looking straight ahead of you, people will shift out of your way,” Naomi’s patience started to thin as the Queen stumbled into her seventh victim of the day. Her words were, however, lost - Manila simply couldn’t help herself from gazing all around her; stopping to pick flowers, running her hands along the stone walls.  
Naomi was a trap ready to go off, her pulse pumping louder and louder through her chest as they got closer to the market, her body showing all the symptoms that her brain fought to hold back.  
She watched the glee on Manila’s face as the children tumbled across the streets playing tag, the downcast disposition she held as she watched a pickpocket steal a purse of coins from an elderly woman, racing to the woman’s aid and giving her all the value she carried.  
A child in a sweet shop, Manila ooh’d and aah'd her way around the market, grabbing Naomi’s wrist ever so gently as she pulled her towards stall after stall, too engrossed in whichever item she was admiring to notice Naomi’s bowed head and inability to form eye contact with the vendors, the fizzle of her usual nature.  
“These playing cards are beautiful,” Manila admired the pack in her hands, shuffling through them slowly and gently. “My father and I used to love card games,” she smiled, grateful for the happy times in her grief rather than bitter about their end.  
“15 coins,” the vendor cast a suspicious glance towards the Queen.  
“Oh, sorry, I don’t have any money,” Manila apologised before placing them back on the table and forging a smile than Naomi could see through as though it were a pane of glass.  
“We’ll take them,” Naomi piped up and looked up at the vendor, her lips moving before her thoughts could process what she was doing, her hands lacking autonomy as they took the coins from her purse.  
“Daughter of Raven?” the vendor extended her hand to Naomi’s chin, who flinched away as though she was being pricked with a thorn.  
Naomi simply stared, her face still as her insides progressively collapsed.  
Soon she was pulled into an embrace; “We have thought about you over these years, child. Thought of your safety and where you have been.”  
Naomi transformed into a child before the Queen’s eyes, closing her eyes and nuzzling her head into the woman's shoulder.  
“These parts,” she pulled away and gestured to the stalls around her, regaining some of her usual composure, “hold too many memories.”  
Manila could have sworn she saw the girl blink back a tear.  
“I understand, though you cannot hide forever. The hold deserves to see you and you deserve to be seen,” the woman touched Naomi’s heart with an almost motherly connection; “They may not be with us, but you can keep them alive in here and you can keep them alive through your art, your beautiful paintings.”  
But my heart is already gone, Naomi thought to herself. Why couldn’t she feel that it was no longer there? Frustration dwindled over her skin because it was now too late. Too late to feel the feelings she had pushed away, too late to turn her life around, too late to save her family. She still stared blankly, too much to comprehend.  
“Perhaps we should head back,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s back, fearing she had been pushed too far.  
“Take the cards,” the woman placed them in Manila’s palm and clasped her fingers before turning to Naomi, “I hope to see you again.”  
And with that Naomi was running.  
Running away from her old life.  
Running away from the one she was living now.  
Running from the feelings she couldn’t feel.  
Running from the pain she could only inflict.  
Running through cobbles and bridges and grass and soil.  
Running until she was sat by the stream, one slight movement and her whole body would have been engorged.  
Running away from the vendor.  
Running away from Manila.  
Except she couldn’t outrun everything.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” Manila spoke softly to Naomi as she manoeuvred herself next to her, placing an arm around her hunched shoulders, not giving a second thought to the mud staining her dress and cape. “I know how you feel,”  
At first, she didn’t think Naomi would respond, but then she felt her back start to stiffen: “No, you don’t.”  
Manila didn’t even make it past “I” before she was cut off in her response. Naomi knew there was no way Manila knew what she was feeling, for she didn’t even feel it herself.  
“You don’t”  
She watched as the stone walls around Naomi’s pain were rebuilt, higher and thicker.  
“Maybe we need to be more like each other,” an ironic smirk slipped from Manila’s lips and dived into the stream before them. “I feel too much, I let my heart get in the way of doing what is right, completing my duty. You place every other order above your heart.”  
“You do not need to be more like me,” Naomi responded bluntly and honestly. Naomi’s mind struggled to comprehend, it was as though someone was tricking the Queen into thinking she was someone she was not, more than a common criminal and killer, someone with worth.  
“You judge yourself too harshly,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s wrist.  
“As do you,” her body pricked at the touch, “You are strong. You do not need to push away your heart.”  
Manila paused, inhaled, looked at the cards in her hands: “I do when I marry.”  
“Perhaps you shouldn’t marry.”  
She didn’t intend to say it. She didn’t even realise she was thinking it, but she must have been.  
The Scarlet Blade never flinched as she took life. It took force to pierce a body, it wasn’t the same as vegetables or meat. But the day her family died taught Naomi that no matter how pure, or how innocent you are, death always wins. So she felt no sorrow, no guilt as she did it. She washed the blood from her hands and moved on to the next contract, it never reappeared.  
At that moment she was no longer the Scarlet Blade, just Naomi, the girl who used to run around the market picking flowers to draw - and even though it was too much for her mind to piece together, too much to fully realise it, she knew she meant it.  
She didn’t want the Queen to marry.  
For she didn’t want to kill her.  
“I am marrying Sutan,” she responded as though she was telling herself as well as Naomi, the reality of her life snapping back into frame like a portrait of the perfect ruler. “I must return to the castle.”  
With that she was gone, leaving Naomi as no more than a disorientated bundle of a woman, dirt slowly seeping into her nails.  
***  
“I’ve bought you a gift.”  
Naomi stopped dead in her tracks, scanning the room for anyone: Sutan, the other servers. It was of no shock that the room was vacant.  
“I do not need your pity,” she stared the Queen down, trying to analyse her motive, going straight to a place of defence.  
“It’s not of pity but of thanks,” Manila took a step closer. If she wanted to then Naomi could sweep a strand of her dark hair out of her face, or run a finger across her pale cheek. “A thank you for keeping me grounded and closer to our people.”  
She was expecting a shirt to replace the red-stained one, taking the box from the Queen’s hands dutifully, yet she was mistaken.  
Brushes, the kind woven of a horse’s mane, smooth in a way that made you want to run them over your palm. Pots of colour, vast and rich. Mauves, crimsons and rubies that couldn’t be compared to anything in the real world.  
“I cannot accept,” Naomi pushed the box into the Queen’s arm hastily as if it were plagued.  
“You can’t hide inside there forever,” Manila shook a head and pointed a finger towards Naomi, towards her heart, her face a crumpled tissue trying to hide it’s hurt. “In order to move on, you must embrace what you have pushed away inside. I see a lot of myself in you and I know you are hurt but at some moment in time you must realise that this is no way to live.”  
Naomi went to speak but was broken, for it was Manila’s turn to stand ground.  
“And if you cannot accept that, then I guess I cannot try anymore.”  
***  
The next day Naomi returned to the castle with a dagger in her hand and a mask in her mind.  
Her head in circles of confusion, if one thing was clear to her it was that she couldn’t murder the queen on her wedding day, that she couldn’t go on in this state any longer, even if she need only wait a few more days. She would have to do it now, or she wouldn’t be able to do it all. It needed to stop; the things that attacked her every cell, the things that might just turn into feelings, they needed to stop. And in her mind, the only way to stop them was to get rid of the person who was causing them.  
She figured that once she’d done it, she could go back to the way she was before. She could sleep at night without the face of Manila a painting on the ceiling, without the cries of her family loud in her ears.  
Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way down the familiar rabbit warren of corridors to the Queen’s quarters - Naomi was past being stealthy, she was compelled to the room, her mind separate from the usual carefulness and precision she had. The Scarlet Blade was known to leave with no trace but blood, but now it was as if Naomi was leaving a trail of red footprints that spelt ‘Come get me.’  
Even in the dark with none of the other servers around, she knew the way like the veins that swelled from her skin, her hand on the door handle before making any conscious decision to enter the room.  
Naomi was almost surprised to see the Queen laying asleep under her covers even though she was the sole purpose of being there.  
Killing her the sole purpose of being there.  
What else had she expected? A guard ready to throw her in a cell? An empty bed?  
She had no reason to be shocked at the beautiful face that almost glowed in the dim light from the window.  
Yet she was just the same.  
She took a step, two, three. Pausing, waiting.  
In usual business she would have already been fleeing the scene by now, a bloody dagger strewn across the room.  
She took a breath, another, and another.  
Is she dreaming? Naomi asked herself as she watched the Queen turn her body. Is she in the clouds singing and dancing? Is she in the garden playing cards with someone who truly loves her? Or is she simply living her ordinary life? The role she was destined to be and the duty to which she was bound.  
She lifted the dagger from her side, higher and higher.  
She found it almost ludicrous that the rest of the people didn’t get to see her in real life, how they would never know the pure black of her hair, the benign curve of her waist.  
She dropped the dagger back to her side without hesitation - as though it were her mother, her father, her sister at the other side of it, throwing it into the coals on the Queen’s half.  
Her forehead felt soft as she bent down and bestowed a soft kiss to it.  
Naomi wasn’t sure if the Queen simply looked like one of the angels from her books or if she really was one, sent to her to show her how to live.  
For the first time in years, she knew as she walked out of the room that she had made the right choice. She may have even dared to say she felt it. Because nothing felt more correct.  
“Wait,” her voice spoke, the angel who had saved her life.  
Naomi turned. She knew she was done but it did not matter. Her body stayed frozen, an ice sculpture melting as the heat of the Queen drew closer.  
Manila’s hand touched her hair, pushing it away from her face like she had longed to do to the Queen as they sat by the water.  
Her kiss felt familiar to Naomi, despite the years she spent without the touch of another, it felt like walking back to the market to her family, placing a new drawing on the counter for them. She was painting in her mind, using all the colours from the beloved cloak in the stories.  
“Thank you,” Naomi choked the word, earning a heavy embrace from the Queen.  
“I should be thanking you,” Manila responded, her lips once again meeting those of her lady in waiting, a plentiful well of healing that she longed to drink from.  
A mash of two bodies colliding in the darkness that blurred together so heavily they could almost be one.  
“My duty,” the Queen pulled away, the gaze of her father's portrait staring down on her. She turned away, steadying herself on a wooden bedknob: “You must go my ever delight. I hope you understand what I must do.”  
Naomi understood wholly, for she had a duty so strong her insides almost crumbled inside of her, leaving the Queen of her heart one last embrace before walking away into the night to her new world.  
***  
“You are bound by blood,” Astrid slammed a clenched fist on the table before them, Naomi’s eyes drawing to the slits in it that she had made previously.  
“I am not the same person I was before,” she pleaded with the woman whom she had once seen as her guardian, the woman that had taught her the ways of the underground life she lived.  
“I didn’t expect this of you, child,” her face rung with frustration, all of her plans being ripped apart in her head. “Do you know how serious this is? What money we have been given for this.”  
“You can find another-”  
“It is not that simple. This is not some barmaid mistress or gentleman’s plaything, this is the Queen of our hold. I’m sorry my child, but I cannot allow you to go forth knowing these plans.”  
Naomi watched as Astrid picked up the chalice before her; “You give me no choice, my child.”  
Then the darkness swallowed her whole.  
***  
Manila looked at the portrait of her father longingly, his words playing in the back of her head on a looped ribbon. ‘Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret.’  
There she stood, all the servers in the house pressing down the fabric of her gown, flattening the lace of her veil, telling her how radiant she looked. But as she looked at the portrait, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the embrace she had been given some nights before, longing for the company of a particular server.  
If Naomi were here she would tell her that some of the flowers in her bouquet were crooked or that the paint on her lips had splashed onto her front tooth.  
But she was not there.  
She cast a glance to the window, the people of Azolla waiting at the gates to watch her carriage pass. She knew she would give up anything to make sure they were safe, yet that didn’t make the pain of doing so sting any less.  
“Are you ready, your highness?” A page entered the door and pulled Manila’s head away from the sky. “Your groom awaits at the hall.”  
Taking one last look at her father, she took a gulp of air, straightened her back and lifted her chin, saying goodbye not only to him but to the woman she had pushed away for him - ready to take her head out of the books she gospelled and start a new chapter of her own.  
The Queen left the room with a skip in her step and a playing card in her shoe, never one to pass on a token of luck.  
***  
Naomi awoke to a drip of condensation hitting her forehead, her hands and feet numb from the cold.  
Her first thought was Manila, a deep stab to her heart when the wave of realisation hit her that the Queen may no longer be alive.  
The memories started to flood back to her, Astrid with her chalice, the binding by blood. I should be dead, she thought to herself as she examined her surroundings. Adrenaline shot up her spine as she began to flee up the shaft above her, her mind fighting to remember the mazes of the underground crime lairs inhabited by Astrid and her guilds of thieves and assassins.  
Every rock she tripped up, she kept going, running faster until she reached the cold iron bars that separated her from the world above, the padlock securing her fate bolted tightly.  
She searched her shoe for a lockpick - nothing. Racing back down the tunnel for some straw, a splinter of wood, anything she could twist inside to let her reach the Queen.  
But no such instrument was in sight.  
She cried in frustration, holding out a handshake of hope for anyone or anything to come and help her, her body collapsing against the mortar of the tunnel, almost giving in and surrendering her body to the elements around herself.  
With that she heard a slight crumble in the silence of the cavern, turning to see a growing crack in the stone beside her.  
Throwing her whole weight against it, she cried out in pain as her shoulder clicked in and out of its socket, the stone around her crumbling more and more to open a thin passage.  
Sending a silent prayer to the criminals before her who always worked with a contingency, she bent her back as far as she could, pushing her body through the gap, catching her skin on the jagged stone that surrounded the opening, the adrenaline running through her once more. Her brain thinking only of Manila, her body high on feelings, real feelings.  
Scrambling through the passage before her, her eyes were fighting to stay open as she adjusted to the light above her, making out the green of the moss on a grate in the distance.  
***  
Manila almost tripped as she made her way down the ruby aisle, even on her wedding day her thoughts were playing amiss in a land far from her own.  
Even so, she regained her composure not with the regality and grace she was born with but with the traits she had built over her years as ruler, the traits that changed and moulded around the people she met, the people she looked after.  
Sutan was a picture in a storybook, his sleek grey hair parted in the middle of his head, his eyes a familiar friend admiring who would soon become his wife.  
Manila took the hand he reached to her, feeling the warmth that radiated from it.  
Part of her wished it were cold.  
His smile shone with impulse and a clear sense of joy from being stood above those they were closest to, everyone’s eyes focused directly on them.  
But Manila’s eyes were elsewhere as she scanned the crowd for a familiar nest of dark hair, piercing eyes and a set of dark and thick lips.  
“Blessings and merry meet,” the Bishop started their vows as a lull of quiet fell over the room.  
***  
“What day is it?” Naomi grabbed the first person she laid sight on, watching as the man's eyes widened at her rugged appearance.  
“S-Saturday,” he stuttered, “Do you need some help?”  
But she was already away as he got to the ‘t’, dodging villagers at either side as she made her way to the stables she had often visited as a child, the streets she hadn’t visited in years all returning in her memory during her state of desperateness.  
Within a few minutes, she had leapt over the wooden gate, evading the calls of the stableboy who tried to stop her path.  
She galloped through the fields and over the troughs, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip, trying her hardest not to be thrown from the steed below her.  
Hair trailing behind her, she soon set her sights on the royal hall, the carriages in the dirt becoming visible to her, the royal carriage clear and centre, the red heart painted on the side of it a bright, flashing danger sign to Naomi.  
Running to the closest window, her eyes set straight on Manila, pausing for a second to admire her beauty before remembering what she was there to do. For she couldn’t see Astrid - but had no doubt in her mind that she was there.  
Spotting an entrance to the side of the hall, Naomi recognised one of the servers from her time at the castle.  
“I must be let in,” she gave her a pleading look, her heart jumping right out of her chest and falling down the sleeve of her shirt.  
“But you are filthy,” the girl's eyes scanned Naomi’s body, “and bloody!”  
With one fell swoop, Naomi pushed the girl aside and made her way through the side door, diving behind a satin curtain adoring the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief that the guests were too captivated with the wedding to notice her entrance.  
Peeking an eye from the curtain that is when she saw her; bow in hand, an arrow drawn, feet propped on the raptors of the roof like an eagle.  
Blood surged through Naomi’s body as she saw Astrid start to pull back her arrow, narrowing her target.  
***  
“Swear you now, on this sacred blade, that there is no reason known to you that this union should not proceed,” the bishop bellowed throughout the hall, producing a dagger in his hands.  
Manila could think of a thousand reasons not to proceed, but only was tugging on her mind at that moment.  
“Naomi,” she cried out in puzzlement as she saw her server hurtle towards her, knocking her body clean off her feet before Manila could comprehend what was happening.  
Two thuds followed; one of Manila falling backwards and one of an arrow planting through the heart of her lover.  
Screams filled the room but Manila remained silent in her shock, scooping up the woman below her and cradling her body close.  
Naomi looked up to the face of her Queen, her angel, fighting to keep her eyes open and see her for just a little while longer.  
“Don’t cry,” she stifled, her throat burning with pain.  
In those few moments, Naomi felt enough to make up for years of feeling nothing at all.  
“Why?” Manila furrowed her brow, placing a hand on the other woman’s cheek, tracing her lips with her finger, letting tears fall on her face like rain.  
“It was my duty,” Naomi almost smiled, feeling nothing but glee knowing that Manila could go on to be the best Queen the hold hadn’t seen, not that she wasn’t already. She had carried out her duty in order to let Manila carry hers, and nothing else could have felt more fitting.  
Sutan tried to pull her back but Manila would not move, tending Naomi as though she were a China doll.  
“Please don’t go,” Manila looked into her lover's dark eyes, knowing that it was already too late.  
“Don’t worry about me,” Naomi spit her last words with blood in the most heartfelt manner she had ever known, “I will get to see them.”  
Manila understood thereupon, nodding in agreement. “I shall miss you dearly,” she gripped Naomi’s hand tight with all the life she had in her, a thick strand of her dark hair starting to whiten before Naomi’s eyes.  
Naomi’s brain started to clear, everything all falling into place, everything having its own meaning, her early years, her years of living as a criminal and the most recent times of her life with Manila all threading together neatly in its own parcel. She had feelings and she had meaning.  
“Go rule with your heart for me, my Queen.”


End file.
